Surreal Enemies: Angel City: God Generation, #2

By Chrissy Moon

Someone's been killing Slates and freeing the Melted from their ice prisons in the Heaven embassy. The God Generation consists of supernatural entities – angels (the Worthy), demons (the Melted), and archaic gods & goddesses (the Slates), born into human flesh and living among the rest of us.

Morgan Constantina is an abuse survivor and a recovering ecstasy addict. She's been working hard to learn how to be tough and never be anyone's victim again. Her new life with her loving, supportive, semi-famous boyfriend – who happens to be her former Living Guardian Angel – grows to include an addition to the family, moving to Los Angeles, meeting his gigantic family, and reluctantly co-starring in their new restaurant-based reality TV show. Morgan learns there are Worthy authorities who keep a judgmental eye on mundane humans. One of them is quite helpful, but another has a personal agenda that could cause trouble for her.

And as she's meeting new people, she's also gaining some enemies. High on the list of foes is an old family friend who's made threats to kill her, her own mother who thinks she's immoral and soulless, and her boyfriend's former flame – a woman Morgan's already met!

Surreal Enemies: Angel City is a story about the war of good and evil inside all of us, and the powerful, unforgettable force of parental love.

(Book 2 of the God Generation series; approx. 87,000 words)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chrissy Moon
• Release date: Jul 22, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393661184

Chrissy Moon

Chrissy Moon suffers from road rage, would like to own a movie theater-sized popcorn popper one day, and enjoys country music. She has two sons (one adult and one young), is a Power Ranger nerd, and would like to call herself a linguist by hobby, even though she's still learning her native English. (Who isn't?) She enjoys writing about strong women and wants to inspire and amuse the world with her words. Come visit her at chrissymoon.com.

Book preview

1

THIS MORNING I ASKED myself, Will I finally tell him I’ve been training in martial arts?

Just as I’ve been wondering for the past 3 months.

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t ordinarily keep things from Ree. I just didn’t want to start that whole conversation—didn’t want to get into the ugliness of why I had to feel so strong and powerful. I knew he’d understand, but regardless, something still kept me from telling him. 

Maybe it was because he used to be my Living Guardian Angel, and for the first twenty-three years of my life, he knew about so many of my thoughts and actions. Maybe I wanted to do this independent of him, just to know that I could.

Or maybe it was because, as amazing and as thoughtful as he was, deep down I didn’t want him to take charge of my healing process, and I knew that’s exactly what he’d do.

This was my pain. My past.

I had to fix this myself.

He did know about my violent, insane, ‘Melted’ demon ex-boyfriend. He also knew about my estranged mother, who made it no secret that she believed I was the most evil person ever to walk the earth.

But I never told him or my best friend—who happened to be his twin sister—about my training, much less the cause of it. It was all because of a threatening letter I received months ago from my ‘uncle,’ Milton Newhall.

I was starting to feel guilty about keeping this secret.

So I decided this morning, finally, that today would be the day. I would tell him how I’d been training with a girl I met at the gym, how I had sparred with her twice a week at first but that it was now almost daily. Lately, we’d been meeting at her house where she had a padded floor and chest protectors.

I was wearing one of those chest protectors at this moment, uncomfortable as hell because it hugged my chest tightly and made me sweat a lot more than usual.

I took gulp after gulp of air as drops of my sweat dripped into my mouth. Ignoring all thoughts of inadequacy, my body rapidly losing stamina, I pushed onward.

No pain, no gain. And all that other bullshit.

How the fuck will you kick major ass if you can’t handle HER? I thought angrily to myself. Focus, Morgan!

The ‘her’ in question was Jella. She was standing a few feet away from me, in fighting stance, bouncing on her feet a bit. She was just as sweaty as I was, but not breathing quite as hard. To make matters worse, she smiled a little.

At times like this, it was very easy to hate her. I knew that was unfair of me because she was actually pretty nice. After all, she had agreed to train me for nothing.

She yelled, YAH! as she turned and swung her right leg, the top of her foot slamming into the left side of my stomach at an incredible speed.

I stumbled back, losing my footing.

It would have been too predictable to do a roundhouse kick right back at her, so I pulled my right shoulder back and aimed a middle punch right in the middle of her chest. She took a small step back with a gasp, and I was so busy watching her and feeling smug that I failed to notice her leg swinging at me again, this time in a front kick.

Was it me, or did she kick a lot harder than necessary?

I stumbled back and fell to the floor. I regained my footing and started massaging my temples, hopefully demonstrating to her that I needed a moment to catch my breath and gather my thoughts.

The Washington sun was setting outside. The window of Jella’s house directed the bright orange sunlight onto her, temporarily turning her into an archaic golden idol à la Indiana Jones. Jella was a brunette like I was, but her hair was more black than brown, and she had gorgeous, vibrant blue eyes.

Maybe that was another reason why I didn’t want to tell Ree about my training. I was sure he’d notice how pretty she was but wouldn’t say anything to me about it. He would instead say something from a different angle, such as how great of an athlete she was.

As if that would make me any less jealous.

I didn’t know whether to feel annoyed or lucky. One thing was for sure, though; Ree always considered my feelings, usually before his own.

Closing my eyes and focusing before I opened them again, I took a quick glance at my right forearm, now bent in my usual fighting stance. I turned my arm a bit to examine the patch of discolored skin there.

That patch would never look like the skin on the rest of my body. It would never go away, and neither would my memories.

I focused on the sounds around me. I could hear my own breathing and Jella’s softer breathing. Further away was the sound of a big rig honking its horn in the streets of Mukilteo.

I shook my head a bit. Focus, Morgan, I told myself. I took one more deep breath, imagining that Jella was Milton, an asshole who was destined to meet my fists in a surprise attack.

Accumulating strength and power into my hands and feet, I attacked, double-punching her solar plexus, following immediately with a roundhouse kick to her right side. She didn’t fall down exactly, but she didn’t block me and she did stumble back again, even farther this time.

Although I wanted to laugh and holler in celebration, I contained myself and went back to a standing position. Wanting to end this session on a high note, I put my hands to my side and bowed to Jella. Following my lead, she went back to a standing position and bowed back. When she stood upright again, she smiled and said, Think you’ve had enough for today?

I wondered what she was thinking behind that pretty smile. Maybe something like, Beginner’s luck. I’m still a better fighter than you.

I nodded, reaching up to the back of my neck to untie my chest protector. Jella got behind me and untied the strings that went across my back. Yeah. Thanks for sparring with me. As always. My chest protector fell off as she finished untying it; she turned around so I could undo hers as well.

Hey, it’s good practice for me too. She took both our chest protectors and dumped them in the corner of the padded area.

I left the bedroom that she’d converted into a tiny gym and turned down the hallway to the kitchen. I’d been spending so much time here that I had really begun to feel at home. I found the bottle of water she’d given me earlier and took a long swig.

She followed me, removing the black belt from around her middle. I didn’t know why she had to wear her full uniform during my informal training, especially since I just wore my gym clothes.

I tossed the now-empty bottle into her kitchen trash. Um...Jella, I have a question for you.

Sure. What is it? She reverently placed her folded belt on the kitchen counter.

How can I punch a guy in the face? Like, really effectively so he won’t be able to get back up for a while?

Her eyes widened as she stopped moving for a moment. Okay, I guess I could have worded that better. Then, leaning against her table, she replied, You mean like a blitz attack?

I rinsed my hands in the sink. Right. That’s what I meant.

I could feel her disapproving stare without having to look at her. She could be a little uptight about rules sometimes, which is why I hadn’t asked her about this until now. But, seeing as this was probably my last session with her, I figured I had nothing to lose.

Morgan, that isn’t allowed. It isn’t sportsmanlike. That is not what we teach here.

This isn’t a school, I argued, drying my hands on a small towel.

And that might have been a mistake of mine. You really should be learning from a master. I might be a black belt, but I’m not a master. I certainly don’t have the authority to grant you any belt promotions.

I’m not talking about belt promotions! I couldn’t care less about that. I don’t even have a uniform, and I don’t care to. I just want to learn how to knock someone out.

A glimmer of shock registered on Jella’s face for a second. I sighed, realizing I’d raised my voice. Sorry, I managed, not meeting her eyes as I apologized. I’m just eager to learn, that’s all.

She opened her mouth to speak, and then closed it as if changing her mind. She shrugged and smiled, which I guessed was her apology acceptance. Want to grab a protein shake with me before you go home?

She’d changed the subject. I guessed that was her nice way of saying, I am never going to teach you that, Morgan, you crazy-ass bitch. I shook my head in response to her offer. Thanks, but I think I’ll just head on home and tend to my poor, aching muscles. I smiled and chuckled a bit so she’d think I was kidding, but in reality, it took every ounce of strength I had not to collapse right there on the linoleum.

She nodded and offered a sweaty hand. As I shook it, she said, Okay, Morgan. Let me know next time you wanna spar.

Thanks, but there probably won’t be a next time.

She smacked herself on the forehead. "Oh, that’s right! You guys are leaving this week for L.A! That’s great. I’d love to live there and rub elbows with the stars."

I chuckled. I don’t know if there’ll be any elbow-rubbing, but I think it’ll be a nice change of pace.

Well, good luck, she said, smiling. Hey, keep in touch, all right?

I will.

Her eyes traveled down to my right forearm. I could see the questions forming in her eyes, as they did almost every time we sparred. My question about the punch to the face probably didn’t help whatever line of thought she was currently entertaining. She was smart enough to make all the connections—my scar, my attitude, my intent on learning self-defense under the radar—but she never flat-out asked me. She wasn’t a nosy person.

That was the one thing about Jella I really liked.

I jumped in my VW bug and drove home, simply exhausted. When I unlocked the front door later, I instantly felt more relaxed, pulling the ponytail holder out of my hair and massaging my head a bit.

I peeled off my sweaty clothes and jumped in the shower immediately. With my face pointed up into the showerhead, I thought about how much my life had changed this past year.

I used to have the habit of running away from my problems or just plain pretending that they didn’t exist. I’d run away from my ex-boyfriend, Adim, a few times when he put his hands on me and made me fear him. I had been too weak to fight back.

Now every morning when I woke up, the first thing I would do is smile and throw my arms around Ree. Never would a day pass that I wouldn’t be grateful that I didn’t have to deal with the anxiety and stress of being with a violent man. Being away from Adim was a gift that just kept on giving, and I never took it for granted. I enjoyed what life had to offer a little bit more because of this.

I was free. Never again would I hide from anyone or cower in a corner. Never again would I put up with anyone’s bullshit. There would be no more fleeing, not from Adim or anybody, and certainly not from Milton. On the contrary, after I read his nasty letter and how he’d hinted that he had an inappropriate relationship with my mother, I decided I was going to hunt the son of a bitch down myself.

The problem was, I hadn’t been able to locate him. I’d search on the internet for hours when I was alone in the house, but I kept coming up empty. Since Milt had been involved with my father’s growing political career I thought I could find him on my father’s website, but that site had been taken down shortly after Dad’s death. I would just sit there at the computer, frustrated, holding an envelope in my lap—the same envelope my father wanted me to have after he died.

It was one of the few tangible things I had left of him.

Slathering my oh-so-relaxing lavender soap across my body now, I breathed deeply and, out of nowhere, I began sobbing in the shower.

This was happening less and less. I was currently at about two shower-sobs a week. Before the sessions with Dr. Hearse ended a few months ago, he’d told me that it was good to let my feelings out. He’d said it was good and even necessary to cry, and that I should never feel ashamed of it, and that as a woman recovering from ecstasy addiction and dating violence, I had to make allowances for myself.

Dr. Hearse had been a pretty good shrink, especially considering he was actually a Slate—an ancient god born into a human body. I’d grown accustomed to my weekly appointments with him. I was definitely going to miss him when I moved.

I shook my head and gave myself a mental bitch-slap. There wasn’t time to lick my wounds or feel sorry for myself. I had unfinished business with Milton, and when I finally find him and beat his ass to a pulp, he’ll regret the things he’d written to me. He’ll regret it all.

I exhaled slowly, loving the feel of the warm, pressurized water massaging my scalp. I leaned against the wall and kept changing my hands from fists to holding up five fingers, over and over again, stretching my hands and stretching out my legs.

By the time I left the shower, I felt so much better. I was sore, but it was a good sore.

I wasn’t built like a real fighter or even an athlete of any kind, but I had been able to shed a little excess fat and my body was a lot more toned. I still wore the same size clothes, but I could now do sit-ups without the skin on my tummy folding over. I was a little stronger and more flexible, and hopefully almost ready for a real fight.

I was still in a semi-meditative state as I dried my body in the bathroom and slowly put lotion on my legs and arms. I breathed deeply but did not close my eyes. In my head, in my mind, I wandered to a place that only existed on a mental plane: My mind room.

Each of us had a mind room, and I was getting used to the way mine looked and where everything was. It was a lot like walking around in a dream.

Living Guardian Angels, Melted, and Slates were all part of the God Generation, people of different supernatural backgrounds born human, with limited powers. I was considered a human helper, a mundane person with a unique skill that could prove useful to people of the God Generation.

I had an Architect talent. I could help people construct or organize their mind rooms. Depending on how protected they were, I could even go inside someone else’s room and look around in there; even read some memories represented in their mind room by files or books. It was very fascinating, and during these past few months I’d learned that no two mind rooms were alike.

I left my own mind room at that moment, simultaneously getting dressed in the bathroom and brushing my hair. My body was so, so sore. I just wanted to collapse on the mattress, but first I had to get something to snack on.

My bare feet clapped on our kitchen floor as I headed for the refrigerator.

Big arms grabbed my waist from behind. My left elbow flew backwards into his ribs—or at least, it would have. A pair of large, smooth hands held both my arms in place. The grip was so tight that I could barely move them. I turned my head around as much as I could to see who held me captive.

It was a hot 25-year-old man.

I was in Ree’s arms, and he was so tall that the area that I thought were my assailant’s ribs was actually below his ribcage.

I would say that Ree Rios was my boyfriend, but calling him that would cheapen the magic that he and I shared. He was much, much more than a sweetheart, a date at the movies, or someone to kiss under the stars. He was an exquisite masterpiece, a man who once held the fate of my life in his hands and treated it like a precious, wonderful thing. He didn’t just love me, and I didn’t just love him. What we had went beyond mere words.

He let my arms go after a moment, a small grin on his face. Hey, Baby, he said calmly. How was your workout at the gym?

I relaxed my tense muscles. My eyes immediately became greedy and took in Ree’s beautiful light brown face, a face I was deeply in love with, a face that permanently changed my life for the better.

He was an extraordinary, thoughtful, caring, sexy, intelligent human being—a term I used loosely. After we met, he couldn’t guide me anymore because of an ancient rule that when an LGA met his charge, they were no longer bonded that way.

Plus, he was fading, so pretty soon he wouldn’t even be an angel anymore. His supreme hatred for Adim pushed him there.

But none of this mattered to me. I loved the essence of this man, regardless of what was happening to him spiritually. He was pure. He loved purely and he protected purely. He was the only man I knew who could be so incredibly sexy and yet have such an innocent aura. He was genuine; he truly cared for people and did everything he could for them. And he was beautiful, in every possible sense of the word.

I admired his 6’3" frame and observed his unblemished, gorgeous tanned skin and natural Mexican and Filipino features—strong nose, almond eyes, high cheek bones, black hair that was short on the sides with sweeping bangs that never got in the way of his expressive brown eyes. And oh, that smile! His smile never failed to change my mood in a heartbeat. It lit up his face, the entire room, my life. It also revealed his two dimples, which made idiots out of women everywhere.

God, he was stunning.

Normally, whenever Ree entered my line of sight, it was like Superman sweeping in to conquer my heart all over again. I seriously could never get enough of watching him do the most trivial things. There was poetry in how he moved and spoke, and it always displayed the incredible reverence he had for me.

Today, however, I just felt guilty.

Tell him the truth, Mogan, I thought to myself.

It was great, thanks, was all I said, disappointing myself. I closed the refrigerator door after pulling out a bottle of water. I paused to gulp down some of the cold water, which felt amazing slithering slowly down my esophagus. 

Out of the corner of my eye I checked him out, noticing for the first time that he was a little sweaty. Man, that was sexy.

You went jogging today, I said appreciatively the second I pried the water bottle away from my face.

Sure did. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard, as well as one of the three orange juice containers that we were required to keep in the fridge at all times. I still didn’t know what the deal was with the twins and all things orange juice related. It was a cute but strange quirk, and I never said anything about it. After all, people who didn’t smoke, gamble, drink, do drugs, or even swear (on Ree’s part anyway) should be allowed to have some type of vice, as odd as it might be.

I waited for him to finish the juice he poured for himself before I walked into his personal space, my arms around him, my nose inhaling his natural, sexy scent.

After a minute or so, I realized that he wasn’t hugging me back. Something was obviously wrong. I let go of him and stepped back, peering at him nervously. What is it? What’s wrong? I asked him.

I’m glad we’re moving away from here, he responded quietly, watching me carefully as he spoke. You need a vacation.

I didn’t like the odd tone of his voice. You say that like...like there’s something wrong with me. What do you mean by that? What are you saying?

He put the juice away and placed his glass in the sink before he responded. Uh-oh, I thought. This was bad news. His brain moved at a mile a minute, so if I asked him a question and he didn’t answer right away, it meant that he was thinking about his response very carefully. Which in turn meant that he wanted to say something that could potentially hurt my feelings.

Which meant that whatever he wanted to say...wasn’t good.

He finally leaned against the kitchen counter and looked at me with a grave expression. Baby, I know you went through a lot with Adim, what with the drugs and the third-degree burn scar on your arm, and when he tried to attack you at the hotel.

My heart pounded. I was right. I wasn’t going to like this conversation at all. In fact, I wanted to walk away. Right now.

My self-protective instincts took over. Stop right there. I really don’t want to talk about this.

Morgan, you need to hear this. Please.

He used my real name. The bad signs were multiplying. Shit.

Fine. Continue.

"I know you’re much stronger now than you were a few months ago. Emotionally and physically. I just think you might want to ease it down a bit. You don’t have to go from one extreme to the other."

Wow. That made me a little sad. Was he essentially saying that I’d been acting bitchy lately? I stopped myself from following that thought process.

I looked away from him and focused on the empty spot in the living room where the couch and TV used to be. Since we were so close to moving to California, all our furniture had been taken, either to one of the Rios homes in Los Angeles or to a local charity. Ree and I were going to move to Dess’ California house for the year we’d be in L.A, and her house was well-furnished.

I heard him sigh. Slowly, he reached for my hand. You almost attacked me just now, yet you didn’t apologize when you found out it was me. This is just one of many instances where you haven’t been behaving like yourself. In the days of old, you would have been horrified if you’d believed for one second that you had done anything that could have hurt me.

Ugh, I muttered quietly in self-disgust. I didn’t want him to ever think that I wasn’t considerate to his feelings. That was the last thing I wanted, and it sparked a sad emotion in me, a feeling that wriggled into my heart and erupted in a slow but steady flow of remorse.

I knew it was time to tell him, so I rehearsed it in my head. I have something else to tell you, Ree. I’ve been training with a girl named Anjella in martial arts because I received a nasty letter from a so-called friend of the family...

No, that wasn’t good. Ree, I’m gonna kick some old-man butt. Wanna come with?

I smiled a little to myself. That was definitely better.

You didn’t hurt me, of course, Ree continued, his voice softening. I can take it. But I don’t want you to act differently toward the people who care about and love you. I know you’re probably making yourself stronger in case you ever run into Adim again...

I didn’t breathe for a moment. Did he know about the training after all?

...and I think that’s great. You should be strong. You should be ready. But one thing that I learned about in my years of training...

Ree was a black belt in two different types of martial arts. It goes without saying that this made him even hotter than he already was. It also made him a very good candidate to train me, but part of me remained stubborn and had a hard time letting go of this one thing I had all to myself, without Ree’s participation.

Ree was still talking. "...is that you use your brain first, and the actions come later, if necessary. Please don’t become a different person. I fell in love with Morgan Constantina, not Chuck Norris."

I giggled and put my arms around him, without reserve this time. His arms went around my waist automatically, and we breathed against each other. I took joy in listening to his heartbeat and to his breath. Much to my chagrin, tears formed in my eyes.

Sorry, I managed. For...all this. I waved my hand a little, palm-up, as if that explained anything. For...spending so much time at the gym, and for being so distracted.

He pulled me in even closer, holding me very tightly against his